


Safe Hands

by Apriel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Probing, Angst, Awkward Boners, Bottom Steve Rogers, Caretaking, Chronic Illness, Comfort/Angst, Desperation, Doctor/Patient, Humiliation, Implied Past Non-Con Medical Procedures, Implied past medical abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Medical Device, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mental Health Issues, Object Insertion, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Prostate Examinations, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Top Stephen Strange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 11:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20257648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apriel/pseuds/Apriel
Summary: Steve has a check-up with Doctor Strange and his somewhat erotic history with medical procedures is aroused~





	Safe Hands

**Author's Note:**

> this is another fic i started a year ago and didn't know where to take it... i finally found somewhere to take it and it's riddled with allusions to steve having self-worth issues, the mental effects his poor health pre-serum had on him, his self-destructive tendencies, and angst, especially the ending, so please proceed with caution (*ﾟｰﾟ)

“Alright... Captain?” Strange invites as he leans out of the doorway to his temporary office.

He’s not really the kind of Doctor that should be performing GP duties, but they didn’t want any outsiders on the job right now, not even S.H.I.E.L.D staff. Strange is about as outside as they can allow, and where The Avengers’ physical well-being is concerned, a trustworthy practitioner is of the utmost importance. 

They couldn’t find anyone like that though, so Strange has to do. He _is_ highly qualified at least! 

“You ever had a physical before, Captain?” Strange asks as he closes the door behind them and checks that the blinds are drawn. “Or at least this century...” he mutters to himself. 

“Just once, to humour me,” Steve laughs tensely as he steps behind the curtain to change into the smock.

“And?”

“Said I was the sickest kid he’d ever seen an’ he couldn’t understand how I was even walkin’ around let alone joinin’ the army.”

Strange nods with a suspecting quirk of his lips. “Ah.”

Steve takes a seat on the examination table then, hefting himself up with only minor exertion of his impressive arm muscles.

The stoic doctor watches such things calculatingly; that icy stare silent but deep like the frozen sea.

He goes about the routine stuff to start, checking Steve’s blood pressure first of all. 

Steve, similarly, watches every part of the procedure too.

He’s fixated on the way Strange so deftly attaches the armband, and when it begins to squeeze, Steve’s heart rate inevitably increases. 

“Hm, that’s a little high... I’m not making you nervous, am I, Captain?”

Steve smiles politely and shakes his head.

“Better keep an eye on that,” Strange mumbles as he takes note. 

The Super Soldier begins twiddling his thumbs as he waits for the good doctor to move on.

He wouldn’t say he’s _nervous_, but truth be told, Steve finds doctor appointments sort of _exciting_.

In his youth he made out that he couldn’t _stand_ all the coddling and pity over his ailments. Part of that was true, but a bigger part of it was that he secretly loved hearing how brave and admirable he was for persevering.

Steve knew a lot of the treatments prescribed to him were bullshit. He knew there was little chance of him ever getting better. But he almost didn’t mind.

Getting knocked on his ass all the time used to be as much about getting hurt as it was about standing up for his beliefs. 

It was about the rush of pain and indignity. Of fighting and failing and that odd bit of pride mixed in about the fact that at _least _he didn’t die, and that any women watching had always looked oddly impressed.

He liked it when the women watched.

He also liked to be dragged home by Bucky, protesting the help but knowing that his faithful friend would inevitably gather him into his arms and carry him to the front door, bloody and beaten and looking like a broken marionette with its strings all cut and its limbs all limp. 

And then _after _such a beating his doctors would fuss and his mother would coddle and Bucky would shake his head because his friend was a huge masochist. 

But being sick was safe. 

Being _small _was safe. 

No one expected anything of Steve, so when he came home hurt not only was he guaranteed sympathy and attention, but he would often be commended by their neighbours and his mother’s friends for what an unexpectedly resilient little punk he was. 

Steve had the perfect ecosystem of reactions from the people around him. He’d soldier on, too stubborn to die from any of his illnesses and too caught in his hubris to consider he _might_. His fantasies were well-fed. 

That was until the war of course. 

From that point on Steve began to curse his limitations for real.

He wanted to help. He was sick of the pseudo-bravery; he wanted to show that he could be _genuinely_ brave, too.

Fights became disproportionately about real issues Steve was invested in and much less about gaining pleasure from playing the big man.

Days when he was too sick to get out of bed stopped being made bearable by being coddled, because he wanted to be out there doing his bit. 

The delicious jabs of pleasure at being patronised started to make him angry instead, because now Steve was realising that in conditioning others to pity and commend him for small feats, he had actually just sabotaged his chances of ever being taken seriously. 

After the serum of course, a lot of things changed. Steve was laden with responsibility and accolades he wasn’t sure he’d actually earned. He didn’t doubt he was _capable_, but he certainly came to realise that he’d probably bitten off more than he could chew.

No difference there, only, then it wasn’t just _his_ scrawny neck on the chopping block anymore; he had thousands depending on his leadership and strength.

From there on Steve found new ways to feel vulnerable, new ways to enjoy pain.

It was never _quite_ as enjoyable as it used to be though. In the real world of war and politics, a healthy dose of Catholic guilt started to weigh heavily on him too. With little else to believe in he became acutely attached to the idea that God was watching and judging. 

He would invite Peggy to give him a good beating in the guise of requesting combat training, and then cry as he masturbated over it later. When the men would mock him for his performance as Cap he felt less inclined to fight them over it and more inclined to withdraw into himself.

Physical pain was so much harder to come by when his body no longer had the same threshold, and any wounds he could incur never lasted long enough; no bruises to prod for a little shot of agony or bones aching so deep in his body that the thought of moving in such a state made his cock throb.

And emotional pain, the kind that started to replace the physical pain... well, that wasn’t anything _like_ enjoyable. 

There was no way for his brain so swing it that made getting his feelings hurt and losing people he cared about translate to arousal. That _just _hurt.

Even now Steve sometimes thinks that maybe he was a stronger and freer man when he was bound by his physical weakness than he is today, as a man with the world as his oyster that just so happens to be under his protection. 

It’s self-pitying to think so, maybe, but it feels unfair that he could never have it _just _right. He was always either too weak to be seen as a hero or too strong to be seen as a man. 

And yet, despite all Steve has been through, the familiarity of a doctor’s appointment—the concept of being deposited in safe hands—still stirs something in him, even now...

“Cap,” Strange says a little more firmly, clearly having repeated the word a few times already. 

“Huh?” the Super Soldier blinks, snapping out of his reminiscent daydream.

“You alright if I take a little blood?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure,” he answers.

He watches as Strange secures his arm and checks for a good vein, then cleans a little area, saying something reassuring before carefully sliding the needle in.

It’s that first pinprick that ignites something; makes Steve’s cock twitch. It’s not about pain this time though, it’s about _helplessness_; trusting the other man to do something so delicate to his body and his own compliance to _let_ him.

“Attaboy,” Strange praises as he removes the needle once the barrel is full and quickly presses a cotton ball to the tiny puncture.

The praise, that’s the other part of it.

Hearing that sweet little assurance, however mindlessly it’s said, that he was a good boy and that he, however _small _an amount it is, influenced someone to take pride in him is priceless. 

“Heh, was that it?” Steve laughs nonchalantly.

Strange gives him an, at first, unreadable look, but it seems to settle on amusement as he quirks his lips slightly.

“Yep, it’s that simple,” he remarks as he transfers Steve’s blood into a vile and screws the lid on. “You’re not feeling faint at all, are you, Captain?” the good Doctor then asks as those piercing eyes flicker up to him again.

The way he says it... it’s like he’s inviting Steve to say that, yes,_ actually_ he is feeling rather wobbly.

He isn’t, but something in Steve tells him to fake it, though he’s quickly swayed back to better judgement by his inclination to honesty (or his aversion to guilt). But it does seem as though Strange has an oddly persuasive effect on him…

“If you need to lie down for a moment or two you’re welcome,” he states unequivocally, sparing Steve his icy gaze as he labels the vile and sets it aside.

“N-no,” the Super Soldier murmurs. “I’m fine.”

That’s a lie he’s told many times in his youth in the efforts to appear not only tough but to exacerbate his ailments further.

The frailer he felt, the better the pain, and the weaker he was when the doctor inevitably came to see him again, the more sympathy and pain medication he’d receive.

What a twisted little fuck he was, he thinks.

Though how different is he now, really?

Strange, of course, has been aware of Steve’s proclivities from the start. 

He could clock a disorder a mile away. Not just because of his profession, but also because, admittedly, he’d dipped into such habits himself after his accident.

He resented the help and the pity because of his stubborn pride, but secretly he had wanted it from Christine. After all, who doesn’t yearn to be cared for during moments of weakness every now and then?

Steve it appears has a very genuine case though. Just from briefly working with him, the good doctor can see it in how reckless he is with his body.

At first he’d considered that after a few decades of living with debilitation, Steve was just thrilled to have a body that could keep up with his ambitions. Surely that is still the case, but that isn’t the _only_ part of it.

Steve acts recklessly because he likes to be constantly reassured that people are _there_ for him, and Strange can imagine that after what Steve has lost, it’s a pretty sane desire, wanting to be reminded that someone will catch him when he throws himself out of planes with no parachute. 

“Alright, big guy, let’s have a listen,” Strange says he picks up the stethoscope.

Steve has the good sense to carefully slip out of his gown, just freeing his arms at the front enough to reveal his bare chest. 

“I’ll try not to let it chill,” the former surgeon promises, giving the resonator a quick rub on the palm of his hand.

Steve’s cheeks flush when the inevitably still-cold disc touches his plush pecs. His eyelids flutter as Strange begins to move it around, the close proximity and the delicacy of his movements starting to agitate his cock.

“Breathe in for me, Captain,” he instructs. “And out.”

Steve obeys perfectly, and does it two more times, the last one a sigh of relief when Strange finishes listening to his chest.

“That uh... heart-rate of yours,” Strange notes, wearing a smirk that makes Steve’s knees weak as he gestures with the stethoscope in hand, “it’s really giving you away today.”

Steve swallows, somewhat familiar with what comes next.

“Alright, I’ll need you to drop your pants.”

Steve nods, slipping off the table to follow the order and thinking what a power-play it could have been if he were able to honestly say he already wasn’t wearing any. _Damn_ his modesty. 

“Do you want me to bend over or?”

Strange chuckles this time and shakes his head, which only serves to makes Steve’s cheeks redden.

“Not just yet, Captain,” he reassures. “If you’ll hold your gown up for me I can just take a look.”

Steve tries to keep his gaze dead-set on the wall in front of him as Strange takes a seat on the saddle stool and rolls over, bringing himself eye-line with Steve’s belly button.

The first touch of his cool hands on his right testicle is enough to make Steve’s breath hitch and his jaw clench. 

He’s doing nothing more than just gently squeezing as he examines them, but it’s too intimate for Steve, and he _can’t_ stop thinking about how this is his doctor rolling his plum balls between his fingertips like he _hasn’t _noticed how tight they’ve grown.

“Cough for me, Captain,” Strange says, and Steve complies. “Again,” the good doctor instructs, and Steve complies.

“Alright,” he concludes, getting up and going to wash his hands.

Steve lets his gown fall to cover himself again, but there’s an obvious bulge at the front now where his cock has started to swell. There’s _no way_ Strange didn’t notice it stirring, and the indignity of it all is just so _deliciously _unbearable.

“Alright Captain, now’s your moment to bend over,” Strange smiles as he returns, securing a latex glove by the cuff.

Steve gulps, gathering his gown up again and turning to bare himself to the other man without a word.

He hears the squelch behind him that is indicative of Strange dipping his fingers in a tub of medical lubricant, and he twitches when he feels him brace his free hand on the small of his back to keep the gown rolled up.

“Say ‘ah’ for me, Captain.”

“_Ah_~” Steve moans involuntarily as a finger slides promptly up his ass.

It takes a mere moment for Strange to locate his prostate, and when he does he starts to rub in small, slow circles.

“Is it... s-_supposed_ to feel that good, Doc?”

“Not normally,” the former surgeon teases.

“Nh! Doctor Strange!” Steve warns, bracing himself on the edge of the plinth with arms ramrod straight and muscles quivering. “Oh, god!” he cries upon noticing the now blatant tent at the front of his hospital gown. “Doc—I’m—I’m—”

“Rock hard?” Strange presumes, his voice tantalisingly low and close.

Steve whimpers with shame.

“Not to worry, Captain. Let’s have you up and I can... examine you a little further.”

Steve nods and eases himself carefully onto the table, disappointed when the good doctor’s finger leaves that spot and he removes his gloves.

He quickly swaps them for a fresh pair though, and produces a tool from the gurney that Steve only catches a glimpse of.

“Ah! W-what’s that f—”

“Don’t be nervous, Captain, this won’t hurt... but it will feel cold,” Strange explains with a tone and a look that does _nothing_ to assuage Steve’s apprehension. “You can go ahead and put your feet in the stirrups,” he suggests rather than informs.

Steve just nods and does so even though he feels he’s already in an undignified enough position with his legs open wide and Strange situated between them.

He takes the opportunity to adjust the plinth then, and Steve gasps as his view of the wall becomes the ceiling. 

He strains to lift his head so he can see just how dramatically he is reclined—or rather, how doctor Strange has a full and _unobstructed_ view of his taint—eye to eye.

“Is-is this really necessary, Doc?” Steve blushingly enquires.

Strange smirks to show his acknowledgement; no eye contact though, he’s fixated on Steve’s ass.

“You sure do live up to your name,” the Super Soldier sheepishly submits. 

He tries not to shy away from the press of cold steel against his anus then, but he is granted a moment longer to prepare himself when Strange dips into the tub of lubricant again and begins circling Steve’s tightly puckered rim.

“Push out for me, Captain,” he says, and Steve does as he’s told, relaxing himself with a soft huff through his nose.

“Oh! Ah~” he winces when Strange successfully inserts the metal device.

“_Very _good, Steve... now just stay relaxed for me.”

Steve nods, passing laboured breaths through pursed lips as the bills start to expand, opening his asshole wider. 

He groans a little, but soon the stretching stops and he heaves a great sigh as he starts to adapt to the feeling. 

The strangest part is sensation of cool air on his inside walls. He’s sure that part of his body has _never_ been so exposed before, and it’s admittedly a little sensitive. 

“Hm, better,” Strange remarks as he finds he’s able to comfortably put two fingers inside Steve now.

The Super Soldier stutters, brow creasing with pleasure as Strange’s attention goes right back to his prostate. 

“Oh~ Doc... _fuck_... that feels good~”

“I can see that,” Strange humours him as he watches Steve start to stroke his cock. 

He allows it for as long as it’s amusing, but when he sees Steve’s asshole begin to clench around the speculum and his canal begin to throb, he intervenes.

The cloak of levitation sees itself off the back of the door and swoops in to bind and restrain the Super Soldier’s wrists, and Steve cries out in alarm, eyes wide and startled and chest heaving as he loses the build of his orgasm. But then he moans in acceptance when the tight fabric securing his arms above his head only _adds_ to the pleasure. 

Strange says nothing, just continues to play with Steve’s ass, and the torment is too sweet; his coldness, his _indifference_, Steve has been weighed, judged and exposed, and it feels _wonderful_.

His doctor is cruel, but he knows what’s best. He has complete authority over his body and the pleasure it’s allowed to receive, and Steve could cum just from that thought alone. 

“Hey Doc,” he pants, trying to distract from his aching cock as it dribbles precum on his belly and twitches with each nudge on his prostate. “How’m’I lookin’ down there? Th-think you’ll need to... operate?”

“Operate?” Strange parrots, finally responding to Steve’s voice with a quirk of a brow.

“Y-yeah... y’know? T-to make me all better...” Steve pants.

It clicks, and Strange smirks that same sage smirk as he removes the speculum and fills Steve three fingers wide in its place.

“We may have to considerate it,” he plays along, encouraged by Steve’s wilting moan at the prospect of once again being in his expert care. “I’ll have to confer with my colleagues. Abdominal surgery isn’t my forté, but—”

“No!” Steve protests, wincing again as he struggles against the cloak’s strength and Strange’s agonisingly steady torture of his prostate. “I don’t want anyone else in charge of my health, Doc! Only you! Promise only you’ll operate on me!”

“I promise,” Strange hushes is that low, rolling tone. “We’ll need to do some more tests, but should you need surgery then I will make sure I oversee it personally... you’ll be in safe hands, Captain.”

The fantasy flashes behind his eyelids and pushes him over the edge; just the thought of Strange commanding other people and doing unnecessary things to his body purely because he’s skilled and he can and Steve _wants_ it.

“Unh~ Oh god,” Steve lilts, cumming with a long and shaky moan, hips bucking and cock swaying as he shoots several spurts of translucent semen all over himself.

Strange frowns when he notices that, waving a hand to dissuade his cloak and freeing Steve’s wrists.

The Super Soldier gasps, trembling with the residue of his orgasm, but it seems his examination isn’t over.

“Steve,” Strange finally speaks again after allowing him to catch his breath. “Did you masturbate before you came here?”

Steve’s face—that had just been returning to a normal complexion—flushes again as he blinks up at the good doctor.

“N-no, of course not,” he murmurs.

Strange eases him into a more inclined position on the plinth, but doesn’t tell him to take his feet out of the stirrups. 

“Is that the truth?” he presses, returning to his place between Steve’s legs and running his finger through the spatter of cum on his belly.

“It’s the truth, I swear! I... I didn’t,” Steve insists. 

Examining the consistency of the discharge, Strange appreciates that it would be meaningless to lie after _that_ experience, but he’s somewhat reluctant to accept it as the truth.

“Ah! Doc, w-what are ya’—they’re sensitive!” Steve squeaks when Strange removes a glove and begins examining the Super Soldier’s testicles again.

“Captain,” he frowns, stopping to analyse the minute scar-tissue down the middle of his scrotum. “It’s not stated on your file that you ever had a vasectomy. Can you remember what year you had the procedure?”

“Procedure? What procedure? I-I’ve never had a vasectomy,” Steve frowns, matching his concern but with a touch of fear in his eyes.

Strange goes quiet for a moment, tugging the other glove off and washing his hands before pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Steve...” he says with a careful inclination, “you’ve been sterilised.”

For some reason it wasn’t until that word came into it that Steve understood, but suddenly there’s a horrible, heavy feeling in his chest, and his eyes well with tears.

Strange isn’t used to giving patients bad news. He’s used to having outreach nurses for that, but something aches with sympathy in him when the Super Soldier’s voice goes small, and that tiny whimper comes out.

“... Why?”


End file.
